Authors: Lori Robinett
Her forehead scrunched as she reminded herself to focus on her future, and quit worrying about Beau, who seemed completely capable of running the ranch. He probably felt like he deserved to get the place. And maybe he did. She blew a breath out, feeling deflated.
They topped a hill and the little town of Wilder sprawled before them, and she put her father out of her mind.
Three church spires reached towards the sky. As they drove down
Main Street, Beth counted three taverns, two antique stores and a café. Several storefronts were empty, and one plate glass window proclaimed that the building’s price was “recently reduced”. The only new building in town appeared to be the bank, a squat brown brick building with double white doors and a neon yellow banner that proudly proclaimed, “Free Cooler with New Account.”
Her eyebrows arched when she saw the service station. The single gas pump looked like it had been there since the 1930’s. There was a hand-painted sign hanging above the one service bay that said simply “Mechanic”, except “ech” was nearly worn away, so it looked like “M anic”.
Her red BMW was the only car in the lot, nestled between a rusty truck and an old Blazer covered in mud. Beau pulled into the gravel lot and beeped the horn twice. When they got out, Beth noticed he left the keys dangling from the ignition switch. She started to say something and then stopped herself. Better to watch, listen and learn.
A grease-covered man who appeared to be in his late fifties came out of the service bay, wiping his hands on a red rag. “Good mornin’, Beau.”
“Morning, Cletus.” Beau motioned towards Beth, “This is Beth Jameson, Mr. Jameson’s daughter. It’s her car that you towed this morning.”
Cletus nodded at Beth, “Pleased to meet ya, Miss Jameson.”
“Please, call me Beth.” She walked around her car, leaning close to examine the dents and dings.
Cletus tucked the rag into his back pocket. "I hear Katie's comin' home today."
Beau leaned against his truck. "Yeah. I'm sure she'll swing by the ranch after she checks in at home."
Beth ran her finger over a jagged scratch on the driver's side of the car. Every scratch made her cringe. That car had been the biggest purchase she’d ever made. It was her symbol of success, purchased when she got her first big raise. She straightened and turned towards the two men. “Thank you for towing my car. It doesn’t look too bad, but it’ll need some work.”
“Yes, ma’am, but not much. Got a hole in the oil pan, driver’s side quarter panel is dented pretty bad and your bumper’ll have to be replaced.” Cletus scratched his head, leaving a greasy shock of dark hair sticking straight up. “Have to order the parts, since it’s one a’ them foreign jobs. Should be done in, oh, two weeks. Mebbe three.”
Beth cocked one eyebrow in disbelief, “Two or three weeks? Why so long?”
“Oh, I just don’t want to promise somethin’ I cain’t deliver, Miss Jameson. And George Holloway is puttin’ up a new barn that I said I’d help with. I done promised him, so I gotta do that first.” Cletus grinned, his two missing teeth making him look like a jack o’ lantern.
Her mouth dropped open at his reply. She looked to Beau, who shrugged. "We got plenty of vehicles at the Ranch. You can borrow or somebody can drive you, if you need to go anywhere.”
The fact that he didn't offer to drive her himself wasn't lost on her. A shiver ran up her spine at the memory of being beside him in his truck, her shirt plastered against her body, his gentle touch on her face . . .
Someday, she wanted the storybook life, maybe in a town just like this, in a little house with a white picket fence, a couple of kids and a dog. Home had been her dream since her parents had divorced and her mother moved from man to man. Her dream was on the verge of becoming reality.
Beau might well be the one standing in her way, yet she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She pressed her lips together, irritated at herself. She was doing just fine on her own. She didn’t need to be
looking for a boyfriend just because she was feeling lonely out here, out of her comfort zone.
After looking up and down Main Street again, she decided she really didn’t have much of an option. She sighed and said, “I guess that’ll work. Can you give me an estimate before you start the work?”
“Well,” Cletus said, drawing the word out into two syllables, “It’ll be hard to know how much ‘til I get in there. Want me to give Beau a call when I got it tore up?”
The man exasperated her more with every word. She looked at Beau, who was making no attempt to conceal his grin. She gave up, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “Just fix it, please. And call
me
as soon as it’s done.”
Cletus nodded and grinned, “I kin drive the car out to the ranch for ya, once the work was done.”
Beth nodded, “I’d appreciate that, thank you.”
His head bobbed on his thin neck and he said, “I’ll get your bags for you, Miss Jameson.”
She glanced at his grease-covered overalls and the dirt embedded under his fingernails, then held up a hand to stop him. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I’ll get them.”
The man's bushy eyebrows pushed together and he said, “I’m sorry about your daddy. He was a good man. Took Beau here in and treated ‘im just like a son. Little Katie Anderson, too.”
Beth turned away, popped the trunk on her BMW and muttered, “So I hear.”
After they transferred her bags to the bed of the truck, they hopped in and Beau fired up the engine. As they pulled out of the lot, Cletus waved his greasy rag and hollered, "Tell Katie howdy for me!"
Beau nodded and waved, then they headed for the ranch. As they drove, Beau pointed out various things. Nearly every house they passed had some connection to the Diamond J Ranch, and it became apparent that John Jameson had been a popular figure in this little town.
She couldn’t help but wonder if that was what had drawn him to this area – the whole big fish in a small pond theory. The man she knew loved power, and loved wielding it. But these stories indicated a
different type of person. Perhaps her mother hadn’t been honest with her. Wouldn’t be the first time someone had misled her.
After they returned to the ranch and her luggage had been stowed in the guest room, Beau excused himself and headed for the barn. She watched him through the window in the kitchen door, his gait easy and confident. Before she met him, when he was just a name on a legal document, she hated him. But now that she'd met him, she was intrigued.
She dug through her briefcase for the document that had occupied her thoughts for the past two weeks. Once she had it in her hands, she wanted to read it again. And she knew exactly where she wanted to be when she read it. She headed down the hall for her father’s library, which she had noticed that morning.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, took a deep breath and walked to the big oak desk that dominated the room. She eased into the leather chair, placed the document in front of her and closed her eyes for a moment. The faint scent of leather and fine cigars and old books evoked distant memories of her father. She had never realized before that she associated those smells with him. She swiped at her eyes before a tear could fall.
CHAPTER FIVE
T
he old-style globe next to Beth's father's desk made her want to dream of destinations unknown. She ran her fingers over the surface, feeling the bump of the mountains and the smoothness of the vast oceans. A raised seam at the equator caught her attention. She flipped the globe open, and found a half empty bottle of Chivas and two glasses. Now, this was the father that she knew.
She could imagine him and Beau, standing here, each with a glass of amber liquid. Her father’s eyes would be lit with pride and Beau’s eyes . . .
But she couldn’t allow herself to think about his eyes. She could get lost in them, drown in their depths. That was a distraction she could not afford.
Shelves laden with books lined the walls. Elegant, old, leather-bound volumes lent charm to the room, likely chosen for their monetary value instead of their literary content, because the only thing she could remember her father reading was the Wall Street Journal. The two large windows allowed in a lot of light, which contrasted nicely with the dark wood that lined the room. Each window had a simple pedestal in front of it, topped with a Remington bronze.
With a deep sigh, she turned her attention back to the document in front of her. With it, her father had taken his last stab at controlling her life. She glanced at the date. Only a few days after her mother’s funeral. Tears welled in her eyes as she realized she was an orphan at twenty-six. She had thought she would never feel more alone than when her brother, Ian, was killed in Afghanistan. He had been her cohort in crime growing up, covered for her when she was a teenager and supported her dream of going to law school. They received word that he was dead just after she received her letter of acceptance from the law school at the University of Missouri-Columbia. She'd gone from top of the world happy to utter despair within days but dove into her studies, determined to do everything she could to make her brother proud of her, wherever he was. At her mother’s funeral service the year
before she missed her brother more than anything, felt utterly alone. There was a glimmer of hope when she saw her father moving through the line like everyone else. He shook her hand, expressed his condolences. Hadn’t even offered her a hug. And then he was gone, leaving her to stand alone beside her dead mother’s casket. That was his modus operandi - leaving.
And now he was gone, too. A single tear coursed down her cheek. Her lips moved as she read.
“I, John Richard Jameson, of Cardwell County, Missouri, do hereby devise and bequeath my real estate in Cardwell County, Missouri, commonly known as the Diamond J Ranch, to my daughter, Elizabeth Catherine Jameson, to be held in trust for one year. It is my intention and desire that my daughter live on the ranch and manage the ranch. My said daughter must keep all employees that were employed by Diamond J Ranch on the day of my death, except and unless she has the written consent of my Trustee.
On the one year anniversary of my death, my Trustee of this residence trust shall determine whether or not my said daughter has been able to manage the Diamond J Ranch in a profitable and successful manner. In the event she is able to manage the Diamond J Ranch in a profitable and successful manner, in the sole and absolute discretion of my Trustee, then said Diamond J Ranch will be given to my said daughter outright. It is my hope and desire that my said daughter will continue to own and operate the Diamond J Ranch as I would have if I had survived. In the event my said daughter shall fail or refuse to live on the real estate, then the real estate commonly known as the Diamond J Ranch shall be sold at public auction . . . "
Her father had issued a challenge and, as he had likely guessed, she accepted it. And he had made it clear that he didn't expect her to succeed, because he spelled out what would happen if she failed
or refused. She wondered if Beau knew. But that was silly. Of course he knew. The attorney her father appointed as Trustee was a local. Her father had probably shared his plans with Beau when the will had been drawn up. Charlotte, too. Her chest rose and fell with a sigh.
Even after all this time, her father could still control her life. She felt like she was five years old again, and he was making her take dance lessons and wear one of those horrible costumes, when all she wanted to do was take gymnastics. She made a face at the paper and hissed, “Bastard!”
“I’m sorry?” Charlotte asked from the doorway, her thick eyebrows bunched in a frown.
Beth looked up, her face flushed with embarrassment. She wiped the evidence of tears from her eyes. “Nothing. Um, I was just thinking.”
Charlotte looked around the room and her frown smoothed away, “Your father spent nearly every evening here. Do you enjoy Louis L’Amour books, too?”
“My father read Louis L’Amour?” Beth asked, her voice ripe with disbelief.
Charlotte walked across the thick rug and ran her hands over the back of one of the wing-backed chairs facing the fireplace. “He’d sit right here, with the fire going, and read for hours.”
“I see,” Beth said, not really seeing at all. That didn’t mesh with the stern, no-nonsense man she remembered from her childhood.
Charlotte stared at the cold fireplace, her hazel eyes dreamy and unfocused.
Beth cleared her throat, anxious to steer the discussion away from her father. “Did the neighbor girl make it back from college?"
A smile spread across Charlotte's face. "She sure did. That kid is smart as a whip, and knows her way around the barn."
"Is she going to work here again this summer?"
"As long as you're okay with it, yes. I'm sure she'd like the chance to earn a little extra money, but she'll work for nothin', too." The older woman's eyes twinkled, "But don't tell her I told you that!"
"I don't see any reason why we can't continue to have her work here." Beth rolled her shoulders back and stretched. "I need to have a meeting with the employees. Introduce myself. Can you let everyone know to meet me right before dinner, this afternoon?”
Charlotte's thick eyebrows arched. “I - I guess I can do that.”
“Good,” Beth said, feeling better as soon as she took action, a step towards completing her father’s wishes and earning the inheritance that was rightfully hers. “Is there a place we can meet?”
Charlotte shrugged, then offered, “The kitchen?”
“The kitchen will be fine. I’ll see you there at 5.”
Charlotte inclined her head in acknowledgement, then slipped from the room without another word when Beth turned her attention to the Will. After the housekeeper's footsteps faded down the hallway, Beth sank back in the chair and wondered if she was doing the right thing. Though running a ranch was way out of her comfort zone, a fresh start was exactly what she needed after what had happened with Quinn. The ranch wasn't quite the house in the suburbs she had imagined, but maybe it could become home.
Besides, now that she was getting a glimpse of the father she hadn’t known, part of her wished she had made more of an effort. Perhaps this was her last chance to prove herself to her father.
At five sharp, Charlotte had everyone assembled in the kitchen, as instructed. Beth had spent the afternoon in her father’s library, making notes and jotting ideas for running a successful, profitable ranch. She loved a challenge, and she loved numbers. This was a challenge she was determined to win. Perhaps when Beau understood that she had a plan, and wanted to continue her father’s work, he’d help her. She left the library, her kitten heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the hallway.
The voices in the kitchen grew quiet before she entered the room. All eyes turned toward her, intent and curious. She hoped to make a strong first impression. It had taken her forever to settle on jeans and a simple black blouse. Her red curls were pulled back into a severe bun to keep them under control.